Look What This Is

"Guilliman!!!"

His voice was as hoarse as iron that had been polished with sandpaper, "What have you done?! What have you done to my heir?!"

Guilliman has no answer.

He just smiled.

The smile was not ostentatious or dazzling, with a small arc at the corner of the mouth, like a Mona Lisa smile, like a Buddha holding flowers under the bodhi tree.

But that smile combined with his blue-gold eyes, the faint lingering sadness on his face, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes that even Smart Atoms couldn't completely smooth out, formed an extremely complex expression.

He is smiling, but his eyes are crying.

"Haven't you noticed yet, brother?"

Guilliman's voice was very soft, so soft that only Mortarion could hear it, "It seems that after possessing Psionic Energy during this period, you didn't think about this power well."

He took a step forward, the hem of his black tuxedo flying in the sea of golden fire.

He knelt down and looked level with Mortarion kneeling on the ground, his blue-gold eyes looking straight at the bloodshot human eyes.

"Just now, I released Nurgle's control over them through the genetic link between you and your heirs and the potential Psionic Energy connection."

Mortarion's breathing stopped.

"Take a look and watch it with me.

I'm also sad about this situation."

Guilliman stretched out his hand, and the five fingers wearing blue and gold gloves spread out and hung in front of Mortarion.

Threads of Psionic Energy silk threads, as transparent as spider silk, spread out from the fingers. Those threads intertwined and condensed in the air, eventually turning into a holographic image.

It's not a holographic image, it's a real-time Psionic Energy projection that spans Warp and directly connects to the depths of the consciousness of every Death Guard warrior.

Mortarion saw his descendants.

In every corner of Nurgle's Garden, those Death Guards who were still fighting with Imperium soldiers stopped what they were doing at the same time.

A Death Guard is using his rusty Chainsword to chop down the shield of a Ultramarines.

The saw teeth of Chainsword bite on the blue Power Armour, and Mars splashes everywhere.

He repeated this action mechanically, once, once, and once.

His helmet visor was stained with dried pus and blood, his breathing was rapid and turbid, and in his mind was only the eternal and unchanging instruction given to him by Nurgle - kill all humans, spread the plague, and please the loving father.

Then the command was interrupted.

Not blocked, not interfered with, but completely erased from the depths of his consciousness by a more powerful, primitive, and irresistible force - Guilliman's Atomic Law.

His Chainsword suddenly stopped during the slashing process, and the blade hung in mid-air.

His body froze, and he slowly raised his head. A dazed, newborn-like light came out of the turbid eyepieces that were covered in pus.

He began to look at himself.

Chainsword slipped from the hand and hit the ground, splashing Mars.

He lowered his head and looked at the hand holding the sword hilt.

The hand had five fingers, the knuckles were thick, the nails were peeling off, and the skin was covered with dark green abscesses and cracks.

What grew out of the crack were not nails, but tiny, maggot-like granulations.

He stared at the flesh sprout for a few seconds, then slowly raised his other hand.

The same goes for that hand.

He began to tremble.

The tremor started from the fingers, spread to the wrists, to the forearms, to the shoulders, to the chest, and to the whole body.

His breathing changed from rapid breathing to wheezing, and from wheezing to choking.

A vague whimpering sound came from his throat, like a wounded animal.

He started tugging on his Power Armour.

That is Terminator Armour from Death Guard. The thick Ceramite shell requires a special mechanical arm to disassemble it under normal circumstances.

But he tore it with his bare hands, dug it with his nails, and bit it with his teeth.

The fragments of Ceramite shattered in his mouth, cutting his gums, and dark red blood mixed with pus flowed from the corners of his mouth.

He doesn't care.

He is just tearing, pulling, and peeling himself out of the shell, like a snake about to shed its skin, like a butterfly about to break out of its cocoon, but what he sheds is not new life, but decay.

He finally tore off the breastplate.

He lowered his head and saw his chest.

That's not a human chest.

It was a tangled mass of dark green flesh covered with abscesses and cracks that was slowly moving.

Countless tiny tentacles protruded from the gaps between those pieces of flesh, and the tentacles were waving unconsciously in the air, as if looking for something to grab.

There was a gaping hole in his abdomen, and his still wriggling internal organs could be seen through the opening. Those internal organs were not red, but dark green, and the surface was covered with a thick layer of glowing mold.

He opened his mouth.

There is no sound.

His vocal cords stopped working at the same time at that moment, not because of injury, but because the area in his brain responsible for "screaming" sent instructions to the vocal cords, but the impact was too great, even his demonized body could not bear it.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish thrown ashore, silently telling his despair.

He finally made a sound.

It wasn't a scream, but a low, hoarse, cry-like murmur, as if it was forced out from the deepest part of the chest.

"Emperor ah..."

He is praying to Emperor.

A Death Guard, a demon warrior who had been corrupted by Nurgle for thousands of years. At this moment, he prayed to Emperor.

Not because he is pious, but because he no longer knows who else to turn to for help.

His soul woke up for the first time in these long years and found that he had changed beyond recognition.

That was not his handsome face when he swore an oath to the portrait of Emperor during the Great Crusade period, nor was it his heroic and heroic appearance when he toasted and sang at the Legion celebration banquet.

It was a rotten, disgusting monster that even he himself couldn't look at.

He started to cry.

The tears did not flow from his eyes, because his tear glands had long been corroded by the Nurgle plague.

The tears oozed from the abscesses on his face, and dark yellow, sticky, foul-smelling pus dripped down his cheeks in thin lines.